


An Inconvenient Truth

by Cheloya



Series: Knife Party [4]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Mercy Street RP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheloya/pseuds/Cheloya
Summary: Old, imported. Yamada is braver than he looks.





	An Inconvenient Truth

“And how is the cripple?” Mayuri asked, his sneer muffled by the sheaf of papers in front of his face. Hanatarou was glad of the buffer – the smile he’d tried for had fallen rather flat.  
  
“Forgetful,” he offered, not quite cheerfully. “Tell Yachiru something’s broken and the first thing she does is yank to see _how_ broken it is. All healing fine, though.”  
  
“Wonderful.” The surgeon was sour. “Perhaps you can tell me when I will no longer be covering for your absence.” This was not strictly fair. Before Hanatarou’s (forced) applcation, St. Camillo’shad operated exactly as it was operating now. The younger man did not exactly feel qualified to point this out, however.  
  
“Yes, sir. As of Monday, I’ll be back to my usual consultation hours, but no surgery until my fine motor coordination is back up to scratch.”  
  
“Huh,” was Mayuri’s only comment, until Hanatarou turned to leave him to his work, relieved. Naturally, the surgeon chose that moment to abandon his report. His voice was acid. “Close the door.”  
  
Hanatarou suppressed a cringe. He should have known he couldn’t get out of this unscathed. “...yes, doctor.” When he returned reluctantly to stand in front of the older surgeon’s desk, the yellow eyes were narrowed at him – not quite thoughtful, not quite malevolent.  
  
“I expect you have some reason for your actions, outside delirium,” he snapped, and Hanatarou’s mouth went dry.  
  
“Now?” he asked softly. “Here?” And when Mayuri’s hard expression didn’t falter at all, he began to fiddle absently with one sleeve. “I... I’m sorry, doctor. I can only, um, I wasn’t thinking clearly, and, um—” Flailing for the right thing to say, since from Mayuri’s expression, this wasn’t it. “It was out of line, sir. I’m sorry.”  
  
Mayuri let out a short breath through his nose, spoke as if to a small, possibly dim-witted child of whom he was not personally fond. “Your reasoning, Yamada, not your excuses.”  
  
Hanatarou stared at him a little desperately for a second. Swallowed. Swallowed again.  
  
“...I... like Dr Kurotsuchi,” he said at last, in a small, strangled voice that didn’t quite sound like it was his, any more, because he’d gotten so much better. But it turned out that the older surgeon could always reduce him to this, in the end. Hanatarou swallowed again, harder, and closed his eyes. Easier not to look.  
  
“But I supose I wasn’t thinking very clearly then, sir. I’m sorry. I—” A laugh burbled forth, and he pressed his palms together, trying to get himself under control again, feeling more and more wretched and embarrassed by the second. “I know you have a daughter and, and everything—”  
  
“Yamada.” Mayuri’s cold drawl, perhaps a little stiffer than usual, stopped his babbling in its tracks. “ _Do_ shut up.” Hanatarou opened his eyes and nodded once, inexplicably relieved, though he still stared at the floor rather than meeting the other man’s eyes.  
  
The silence grew heavy and awkward very quickly. Hanatarou was on the verge of blurting another apology and fleeing the room when Mayuri spoke again. “I’ll agree your senses were addled at the time,” he reasoned aloud. “However, I expect less impulsive conduct in the future. A little thought and responsibility, Yamada. Anything else will be a damned inconvenience.”  
  
Hanatarou pursed his lips, and wet them tentatively. He got as far as, “If you would prefer, sir,” before he had to stop, but it appeared Mayuri had taken his meaning, anyway – and his response was derisive.  
  
“Because resigning would make it all better,” he retorted. “Don’t be stupid, boy. Whether or not the other idiot shows such, this _is_ a professional environment.” Yellow eyes were half-lidded, more scornful now than they had been minutes ago. He had never taken well to those who tried to escape from the consequences of their actions. “Show some backbone.”  
  
Hanatarou stared at the expression on the older surgeon’s face, halfway between disgust and irritation. Exasperated, as he so often was with Hanatarou. And the younger man wondered how he’d ever come to like someone this ornery – why he _still_ liked the other man so much, even when, clearly, his very presence irritated the surgeon.  
  
But he did.  
  
He _did._  
  
And it was that that made his mind up for him, that knowledge, that certainty, even if he didn’t _know_ why. It was that that had him striding – as much as a person of his stature could stride – and leaning, and watching Mayuri’s face darken, watching his mouth open to deliver irritable warning—  
  
And halting the sound completely. Good hand against Mayuri’s jaw, thumb rubbing soft circles as every tendon tensed. Inexperience showing terribly, he was sure, but _determined,_ and even if the surgeon _had_ clenched his jaw, lapping at the flat seam of his lips, running his tongue along the lower and fuller of the two. And trembling, eyes shooting wide – but not terrified, this time – when Mayuri’s large, cool hand closed over his wrist.  
  
The yellow stare was surprisingly level. It helped him say it, what he wanted to say: “That’s all the backbone I have.”  
  
Mayuri didn’t even blink. “That was ‘less impulsive’, was it?” Voice low and tight, and something in it – or maybe the expression – prompting Hanatartou to grin, relieved, hair falling in his eyes.  
  
“I’m not delirious this time,” he pointed out optimistically. “And I didn’t miss.”  
  
Mayuri’s mouth quirked downward, the way it did when he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t miss the _door_ ,” he suggested, all acid once again, “and don’t feel you’re _being_ missed. If working myself to death excuses me from more calm, rational decisions on your part, I’ll enjoy the exhaustion.”  
  
“While it lasts,” Hanatarou agreed, though his eyes were warm. “Thankyou, as always, for your effort and advice.”  
  
“You aren’t welcome,” Mayuri drawled, though his hand still circled Hanatarou’s wrist, “so get out.”


End file.
